


If You Should Run Away, I Would Save Your Place

by Lavender_Disaster



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And it does have a happy ending, Because they never really broke up, Bottom Louis, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, I promise, M/M, Making Up, Reconciliation, Separations, The ending is so so worth it, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_Disaster/pseuds/Lavender_Disaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not doing this anymore,” Louis said.</p>
<p>Harry froze. He was wearing a sheer black t-shirt and Louis could see every muscle in his back tense as though Louis had just lashed him with a whip. “What do you mean you aren’t doing this anymore?” Harry asked. And Jesus. Louis hadn’t expected his voice to sound so worn down.</p>
<p>“I just can’t, H!” Louis took a deep breath, “I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t! I'm exhausted. I’m at my wit’s end! I am done!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Should Run Away, I Would Save Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Taking Back Sunday's "Flicker, Flicker, Fade."

Louis was pattering around the too-big house, getting ready for bed when he heard the key in the lock. He was in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea before bed when he heard the front door open. He nearly dropped the mug out of his hand and onto the hard tile floor at the sound. The first instinct he had was to run to the door and leap into Harry’s arms and kiss his face all over and tell him how much he loved him. After he’d done that, then he’d probably slap him. Hard. Because right now, Louis quite hated Harry. Despite the anger and hate though, a small smile crossed his lips because Harry was home. Finally home. Instead of running to the door to greet him, Louis continued to prepare his tea, pouring some milk into the bottom of his mug before scooping in a teaspoon of sugar. He had never been one for milk and sugar in his tea. But it was the way Harry had always taken it, and recently, Louis had taken to drinking it in that way.

He heard the sound of boots make their way into the kitchen. Louis casually picked the kettle up off the stove and poured the steaming Yorkshire into the mug. He grabbed a teaspoon and began to stir his tea, not glancing up. He knew Harry was standing there, leaning against the island of the kitchen, across from the counter Louis was currently hovering over. Louis could just picture him leaning there, lanky legs crossed at the ankles. Louis wanted him to say something, anything. Instead, there was just silence. Awesome, Harold. Fucking brilliant.

Louis took in a breath before turning around and saying, “I’m going to bed. Try to come in quietly, if you’re even sleeping in our bed tonight.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry nodded. He was wearing his blue skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a little pocket on the chest. His hair was down and he had dark bags under his eyes. Louis figured those bags were probably the only thing they had in common at the moment. Louis hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the night Harry had taken off. Zayn and Liam and even Niall had come over throughout the last few weeks, trying to cheer him up and trying to help him through everything. But it was impossible. Louis was useless without Harry. Had no idea how to even function without his boy.

It was proper embarrassing at times.

Louis took his mug and headed upstairs. Harry didn’t follow. And the next morning, when Louis woke up, he saw the other side of the bed was still made up, completely untouched. So that was how it was then, Louis figured. He hated it though. His stomach twisted at the sight of the made up side of the bed. He reached over and ran a hand over the duvet. It was cold. Everything had been so, so cold lately. Louis wasn’t sure he could handle any more cold. He wanted Harry. Wanted Harry to scoop him up into his lap and hold him tightly against him until he warmed up. Thawed out.

They were on a break from touring and PR and everything else. Finally two months off to just have a break to themselves, and Harry had walked out. Louis could still remember that night a month ago so, so well as if it had been just yesterday. Harry had come back from L.A and Louis had gotten back in from Vegas the following day. Their team was still insisting upon them being in separate cities. And they were really amping up this “lad” image of Louis. Louis hated it. Hated the nameless clubs with the random girls clinging to him and arsehole lads trying to pull girls that looked young enough to be Fizzy’s age. Louis hated the whole fucking thing. He was miserable, but he was looking so forward to coming home and being with Harry again. They’d have a lot of time together now. The rest of break to be specific. And when Louis had come home, Harry’s bags were still by the door. Which was odd, but Louis had ignored them and hurried upstairs to find his boy and cover him in kisses. What he found instead was Harry packing another suitcase.

“What’s this?” Louis asked from the doorway, “Are we going somewhere?”

“No, Louis,” Harry took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, “ _We_ aren’t going somewhere. I’m going back to L.A tomorrow and I just need to get some things.”

“Wait...what?” Louis hadn’t believed what he was hearing. He and Harry had just gotten back. He couldn’t be leaving again. Not when they’d planned to spend the rest of break together making up for lost time and missed opportunities.

“Louis, I just can’t right now,” Harry ran his hand through his long curls once again, pushing them back frustratedly, “I just can’t. I just...I need some time. I’ll be back though. I’ll be home before the end of break.”

“Wait...what the fuck, H? End of the break? How long are you going to be gone for?”

“I don’t know, Lou. I just...I’m gonna finish packing, and then I’ll be in the guest room tonight. Get some rest, okay. You always get so jet-lagged."

Louis had fish-mouthed, watching Harry pack his suitcase and head down the hall towards the guest room. Louis had paced around the bedroom, fretting about and trying to process what had just happened. He knew Harry like the back of his hand. He knew when Harry just needed to be left alone. So Louis decided to do just that. Harry just needed a night to himself. Come morning, Louis would get to the bottom of this, figure out how to make it right. But when Louis woke the next morning, the luggage - and Harry - were gone. There was a note taped to the front door though -

_I’ll be home when I can be. Trust me when I say I’m coming home, Lou. I just need some time. xx H_

And Louis had ripped the note down and had crumpled it angrily in his hand into a tight ball. Because fuck Harry for taking off like this. Fuck him for not talking to Louis. Fuck him for leaving like this. Some time? What did that even mean? They barely had any time together. How could Harry possibly want to take away what little time they did have? It was fucking selfish was what it was. Louis had spent that day angry. He’d stormed about the house, coming up with new threats. Muttering, “I’m going to slap his pretty little face so hard the next time I see him” and “that absolute fucker!” and “I fucking hate him.” But then day turned to night and the house was dark and cold and far too big and Louis had called Zayn, absolutely sobbing on the phone. Because this could not be happening. This wasn’t Harry. This wasn’t them. They never, ever walked out on each other, ever. It just wasn’t done. No matter what bullshit was tossed at them, they fucking stayed together and muddled through it, relying on each other for strength. They absolutely did not fucking walk out.

And now, nearly four weeks later, Harry was home. And he hadn’t slept in their bed. And Louis was terrified. Terrified because of anything felt like the end, this did. They’d never been so distant from each other. And while they had texted every day while Harry was off in L.A, the texts had been short and clipped. Just checking in. Just making sure the other was still alive. The bare fucking minimum. Nothing like the usual constant texting and facetiming and Skype calls. No goofy puns sent via Snapchat. Just “hi, hello, how are you?” And the responses were always just as short, “hi, fine, you?”

It was maddening to Louis. And now having Harry back home, and still being just as distant, only made Louis feel worse about everything. Usually when they were back together after any time apart, they were attached at the hips - both needy and pliant and cuddly. But this time, there was just distance. The next three days Harry was home, they circled around each other, avoiding any conversation. It was like they were strangers just sharing the same house, but not really living together. Harry stilled cooked, but Louis’ portions were always left covered on the stove while Harry ate alone at the kitchen table. Louis would fix his plate and eat in the living room. Harry had unpacked the clothes he’d taken with him to L.A into the spare bedroom closet. He hadn’t come into the master bedroom once.

By day four, Louis had had enough. He knew he couldn’t do this anymore. This wasn’t being together. This was just misery. And Louis knew he needed to put an end to it.

Harry was standing at the kitchen stove, frying up some chicken for lunch in a skillet. Louis stood by the kitchen island. He put his hand on the counter, gripping the edge of it until his knuckles were a ghostly white.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Louis said.

Harry froze. He was wearing a sheer black t-shirt and Louis could see every muscle in his back tense as though Louis had just lashed him with a whip. “What do you mean you aren’t doing this anymore?” Harry asked. And Jesus. Louis hadn’t expected his voice to sound so worn down.

“I just can’t, H!” Louis took a deep breath, “I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t! I am exhausted. I’m at my wit’s end! I am done!”

Harry tensed again and dropped the spatula against the skillet. He turned to Louis and his face looked at though Louis had just slapped him. The color was drained from his complexion. He looked like a ghost. His eyes were wide and swimming with moisture and darting back and forth along Louis’ face. Harry looked panicked!

“Lou, no!” Harry shook his head frantically, “Louis, we can work through this okay! Please. I’m sorry! I am _so sorry._ I know I’ve been...been shit lately. And I am so sorry for that. But please don’t...please don’t end this!” Harry reached out to clutch to Louis’ arm. Louis yanked his arm back. Harry was not allowed to touch him. Not right now. Not yet.

“Christ, H!” Louis threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m not fucking done with _you,_ you arse. I’m done with _this!_ This radio silence from you. I can’t fucking take it. This is supposed to be a relationship but I feel like we’re just strangers living under the same fucking roof. You walked out on me. For a month, Harry. You were just gone. And I don’t know what I did. And now that you’re home, I feel like you’re not really here. You may as well be back in fucking L.A! I am not done with you, H,” Louis’ voice softened only just slightly though, “Never done with you. But I need you to _fucking talk to me._ I am done with us dancing around each other. I’m done with the silence and this tension. I am done with all that. And you’re going to fucking sit here and tell me what’s wrong and what I did wrong so that I can fucking fix it and make it right for us - for you. Okay?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but just nodded. He reached around to turn the stove off before sinking down at the kitchen table. He put elbows up on the table and rested his face in his hands for a moment. Louis sighed and sat down across from him. He didn’t want to - not yet anyway - but he reached across and touched his fingertips to Harry’s forearm.

“Hey, look at me,” Louis said, gently tugging Harry’s hands down away from his face. Harry’s eyes were worn and tired and red-rimmed and swimming with tears. He looked so, so tired. Louis was sure he didn’t look much better.

“I am sorry,” Harry started, “I am sorry for walking out on you like that. I just...I was so angry with you, Louis. And I shouldn’t have been. I know none of this is is you or your choice. I get that. You’re only doing what they’re telling you to do. But while I was in L.A I saw some pictures of you at one of the Vegas clubs and this girl was in your lap and she had her mouth on your ear and the people I was with...I didn’t know them too well. They were friends of friends of friends and we were hanging out by this pool and one of them saw the photos online and showed me. And he said ‘guess he really does like pussy after all, H. Sucks for you, man.’ And I just was so pissed. I just saw red. And I left. I got up, grabbed my clothes, and left. And I was so mad. I was mad at him for saying those things. Mad at management for making you do things like this. And I...I was mad at you too, Lou. So, so fucking mad at you. I needed to put some distance between us. I came back to London to get some more clothes and to let you know. I just needed to distance myself from you because I knew if I was around you in the state that I was in, I would resent you and blame you for those photos and the things that arsehole said. So I just left. And I shouldn’t have. I should have talked it out with you. I am so, so sorry. I just...I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren’t going to lose me, H,” Louis covered Harry’s hands with his own, “You aren’t. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m yours for the long haul, babe. You know this.”

“I know,” Harry nodded, “I do know. I just...I hate seeing pictures like that. Of you with girls. They have this image of you out there of being a womanizer and a party boy and it makes my blood boil because it’s not you. Not at all. You would never treat girls the way they try to say you do. You would never sleep around with anyone, much less women. Like, it just fucking pisses me off. You’re the most romantic, committed person in the world. All these stories of one-night stands and everything...I can’t take it!”

“H, do you know why I do this?” Louis asked, genuinely concerned that Harry didn’t know.

“Because management tells you to,” Harry replied.

“That’s...part of it,” Louis wet his lips, “Do you ever wonder why the womanizer image you had has pretty much been completely erased? Last year, every article was about who you were shaking up with or snogging. There were so many rumors about you being this huge lothario. There’s even fanfictions out there of you being an abuser of women, H. Did you know that? Because I do. And every single time I saw an article about you and some girl or who you were sleeping with next...it made my blood boil. I wanted to vomit every time an interviewer over the age of thirty would make sexual remarks about you. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing anymore. The press and the interviewers all treated you like a doll to touch and pose. They _dehumanized_ you, H. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I remember one interview, the interviewer must have been in her fifties. And she kept calling you Cougar Meat and stroked your hair and patted your thigh. They started calling you Cougar Meat when you were only sixteen, H. _Sixteen._ A baby! A...a child practically! And I couldn’t...I couldn’t sit by anymore. So last year, I went to management and asked them - begged them - to let me take this off you. I told them if they wanted to push a womanizer image on someone, that I’d rather it be me than you. I saw how it was destroying you, H. I saw how you were on the verge of crying in that interviewer when they straight up called you a womanizer. I couldn’t do it anymore. I took this on for you. Everything I do, the clubbing and the pap walks with random girls...I do that so you don’t have to.”

“Lou…” Harry looked as though he had no idea what to say. Louis took a deep breath and nervously flicked the fringe from his eyes. He had never actually told Harry any of this before. Now that it was out there in the open, Louis felt especially vulnerable.

“I hate it too, H. It’s not ideal for me. I don’t like it. But I do it because I’d rather it be me. I’d take this on a thousand times over if it meant you didn’t have to. I do it to protect you. Because I can’t stand to see it be you, to see how broken and worn down it made you. I just...I couldn’t stand by and watch that happen.”

“You...you chose to take on this image...to protect me?”

“Yes,” Louis nodded, “And I’d do it a thousand times over, H. I’m sorry it’s hard on you to see those pictures. And I’m sorry that dickhead said those things to you. I wish you had just told me though instead of taking off to L.A like that. I was...I was terrified I was losing you.”

“I thought I was losing you.”

“Fuck!” Louis threw his head back, “We’re a proper mess, aren’t we?”

Harry looked sheepishly at Louis through his lashes. Louis sighed and pushed his chair back from the table. He came around to Harry’s side and straddled Harry’s lap, locking his arms around Harry’s neck. He pressed his nose against Harry’s.

“Was so mad at you for leaving like that, H. Swore to Christ I was going to slap you the second I laid my eyes on you.”

“Well, thank you for not,” Harry reached up and brushed the fringe from Louis’ eyes, “I am very sorry, Louis. I...I would understand if you never forgave me again.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “You shit,” Louis scoffed, “I pretty much forgave you a few days after you left. You know how we are. I may be angry at you. I may even hate you a little bit. But it’d never be enough to make me stop loving you. I am always going to love you, H. And I forgive you for walking out and running off to L.A. But please, please, please don’t ever do that again. Or I may have to fly out to L.A myself and beat some sense into you.”

Harry laughed, touching his forehead to Louis, “Thank you for taking this on for me. I know it’s not easy, Lou. It just...it means a lot to me that you’d do this for me.”

“Fuck, H. I’d go to _war_ for you. I think I can handle getting a little drunk a club with people I don’t really like. Long as it means you’re safe in the end.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis nuzzled into Harry’s neck, “Christ, I missed you so much, H. And then you came home and it was like you were still gone.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m here now though. And I am never, ever going to leave like that again, Lou. I promise you I won’t.”

“Good. Please don’t.”

“I won’t, Lou.”

Louis pouted a bit, reaching out and pinching Harry’s bottom lip, “Been over a month since you kissed me, Styles. You gonna make that up to me, or what?”

“Mmm,” Harry hummed, “Gonna make more up to you than just kisses, Lou.”

“That so?” Louis quirked a brow.

“Yes, you silly boy!” Harry laughed, tapping Louis lightly on the nose, “But you have to get off me first. I’m not fucking you on our kitchen table, Lou.”

“You’re not fun!” Louis pouted.

Harry laughed and pinched his hip, “Fine then. I won’t dig out my silk scarves then. Considering I’m ‘not fun’ and all that,” Harry smirked, reaching down to squeeze at Louis’ ribs. Louis giggled, squirming against Harry’s lap.

“Okay, okay! You’re fun, you’re fun!” Louis giggled, “But one condition.”

“Oh, we’re making conditions now, are we?” Harry raised a brow.

Louis rolled his eyes, “Don’t be a pain. Yes, I’m making a condition. My condition is that you carry me upstairs. Because Hazza, I have missed you far, far too much these last few weeks and for you to ask me to let go of you right now would be downright cruel.”

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of Louis’ neck, “Alright, alright,” Harry stood up, scooping Louis up in his arms with him, “You’re so ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Louis sang, nuzzling against Harry’s neck as Harry carried Louis to the stairs.

“Always,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to Louis’ head.

“Hey,” Louis pulled back slightly, arms still wrapped around Harry’s neck. He nudged his nose against Harry’s, “Glad you’re home, H.”

“Me too, Lou. Me too.”


End file.
